


Once Upon a Time

by elea727



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elea727/pseuds/elea727
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weddings are emotional events that can signal the start of a beautiful future for the bride and groom. At this particular wedding, Meryl is more emotional than most as she struggles to embrace the past and let go of the future she had envisioned for many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time

You are two glasses of champagne and one whiskey shot into the reception when the darkness takes over. All day you have been so good, so _perfectly happy_ , but hours of pretending have worn you down. You so carefully hid your melancholy and regret, but you wear them now, like a sad, beautiful corsage.

You like how the alcohol has made you feel, the warm waves that spin from your chest to your fingertips. But the waves are slowing, and the yearning is swirling up inside.

You need another drink.

You tell the bartender that you want something to get drunk, but not like,  _krunk_. He smiles, and when he turns around, you notice Fedor talking to friends at the other end of the bar. He seems to sense you looking at him, and he grins and winks but makes no move to come over. You aren’t sure if you should be bothered by this. The best--and the worst--thing about Fedor is that being with him is effortless, meaning both that it is easy, and that he often puts forth little effort. Sometimes, that’s nice.

Instead of going to him, you take your vodka tonic and move into the shadowy foliage on the edges of the dance floor. You feel disconnected from the guests twirling to the upbeat music. You feel like you shouldn’t be here, even though you are a bridesmaid and the groom’s best friend.

As you walk, even in the chaos and shifting light, your eyes automatically land on him, his head thrown back in laughter, his hand running through his blonde curls. The bride sweeps from the middle of the dance floor to his side. She grabs his arm and rises on her toes to whisper in his ear. She is gorgeous, and they are so in love. _So very in love_. Blinking rapidly, you turn to study yourself in the glass wall of the conservatory.

You walk until you find a bench hidden in a little grove of palms near the back. It is quieter here, and dark. You sit and look at the trees outside. The April night is calm. It didn’t rain like they thought it would, but the clouds linger, glowing orange from the lights of the city beyond.

You had dreamed of getting married at this place since you were a girl. It is a beautiful venue, and when Tanith told you that she had chosen it, you were able to genuinely, effusively praise her decision. But, you think: you would have done this in the fall. The autumn leaves outside would have provided most of the decorations. The air would have been crisp and cool and full of possibility; of a new start, a new school year, a new skating season. Plus, when you were much younger, Charlie used to say fall was his favorite because of his birthday.

You squeeze your eyes shut and yearn for that boy, for that innocence. You long for that time before you made a bargain that traded one future for another future, and one kind of happiness for a different kind of happiness, that comes with a heavy gold medal and the occasional heaviness in your heart.

As you stare into the darkness, your vision shifts, and you are acutely aware of the glass enclosing you. You feel trapped. You saw this once in a zoo. The poor butterfly beat its wings and flew in frenzied bursts around its glass case, but it couldn’t escape. You are so overwhelmed with empathy for the butterfly that you want to cry, because you don’t know if you will ever escape, either.

When you feel a hand on your shoulder, you press your fingers into your eyelids in a mixture of sadness and annoyance. You think there’s really only one person who might have seen where you went, so you mutter, “Go away, Fedor. ” But the laugh you hear is not the one you expect, and you turn to see the dance floor lights illumine a golden halo around Charlie’s head.

“Sorry,” you say, your eyes wide. “I thought--”

He laughs again and removes his hand. “It’s _fine_. People actually get us mixed up a lot, since I’m also a tall, dark, handsome former model,” he teases. But his face grows serious and his voice softens. “Hey, um, you okay? Did he do something--?”

You say a silent prayer of thanks that you didn’t actually cry. But then you marvel at how he found you here anyway.  _One entity_ , you think.

“He didn’t do anything.” You put on a smile and pick up the glass beside you. “It’s all good. I’m just – you know, gettin’ my drank on,” you say with forced mirth, rattling the ice in the glass, and wincing at your own awkwardness. “It’s...it’s been a long day.”

“Yeah.” Without an invitation or a question, he sits next to you on the small bench and lets out a long breath. When he pulls at his bow tie with an index finger, his ring glints, and you wonder how it will feel pressed against your skin the next time you skate. You instinctively hold out your drink at the exact same time he reaches for it, and your fingertips brush around the glass before he brings it to his lips. “Sorry we haven’t talked much today,” he says, wincing at the sharp taste of the vodka.

“It’s okay. You’re busy.”

“It’s worse than being a gold medalist. It’s like everyone came expecting to see me or something,” he jokes.

You bump his shoulder with your own as you reach across him to retrieve your drink. “Well, you’re doing great, partner.”

“No, I mean - it’s fun. It’s great to celebrate with everyone. Except I just saw my cousin’s daughter in her footie pajamas a minute ago, and I realized I was insanely jealous of a 3 year old,” he says, making you cough in the middle of a sip. “I was like, ‘Where are _my_ PJs, dammit?!’ Why isn’t it--”

“--acceptable for adults to wear pajamas in public?” you finish for him. "Gosh, that would be _great_ , wouldn’t it?."

“Exactly,” he says with a laugh. You say nothing for several moments, but the silence is comfortable as you pass the glass back and forth. You place your hand on your chest and soak in the warmth of his nearness.

“I don’t know, everything has been so crazy this past year,” he says finally, running a hand through his hair and returning the glass. “All I want to do on this honeymoon is sleep, but I doubt Tanith will go for that.”

Your feet fall out from under you, like you missed an exit from a lift; you know exactly what Tanith will want to do on their honeymoon, and a blade slices the proverbial wound open again. You are falling, then sliding without stopping. You don’t know what to say, so you study the drink in your hand. You sense Charlie shift beside you. “Meryl, I …” but he does not finish. You hope he will say again that he loves you, and that he will hold you and tell you that nothing has changed and  _everything_  will change, but it’s a hopeless feeling, because he can’t.

Because you aren’t the one wearing a white dress, and his ring isn’t on your finger.

“Do you hear the music?” he asks abruptly.

You look over at him in surprise. His expression is earnest, and his eyes scan your face.You train your ears on the notes:

 _A girl with moonlight in her eyes.._. _put her hand in mine_

Recognition washes over you like water, and you feel your leg muscles flex with the movements of a program you have barely thought about in years. You remember how close your faces sometimes were at the end of this song, how warm his breath felt on your lips.

_And said she loved me so…_

It began around the time you both graduated from high school. You don’t know why. Your stomach clenched every time you had to look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed every time you touched his hand. It went on for years, but you did nothing other than kiss a few times at sorority functions and Scott’s alcohol-fueled parties. The only time you felt release was during a performance, when you could express the emotion you carefully suppressed the rest of the time. You think it was the same for him.

But then you remember Charlie splayed out on the ice, like a surreal nightmare, not once, but _three_ times, and your own voice repeating, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” all the way back to the hotel. You felt his hands in your hair, his lips against your neck murmuring your name, cool air on your stomach, his sweat on your thighs, the hotel sheets tangled around you when it was over. As his heart pounded beneath your palm, you whispered, “I love you,” but he must have been too shy or too surprised or too angry at himself to say it back.

It only took him six years.

_But that was once upon a time_

_Very long ago…_

It had been your decision in the end. You put skating in front, and everything else in neat boxes in the back of your mind. It was for the best, you’d said. It wasn’t until years later, when you were spending eight hours together every day between the ice and workouts, until you saw him nearly doubled over in exhaustion after long practices, until you clung to him on Olympic ice and he murmured breathlessly in your ear, that you allowed yourself to unpack those feelings you had stored away so many years earlier.

But by then it was much too late. He had built a whole life with someone else, and there was no going back.

Now, he takes the drink from you, puts it on the bench, and holds out his hand. “Come on,” he says gently.

You do not hesitate. In one motion, you both rise and he pulls you into a perfect hold. He is improvising, but you are good at following his lead, as always. It is familiar and wonderful, but it makes the yearning wash over you again. He seems to sense tension your posture and whispers, “Ready?” before guiding you into a series of spins. When he brings you close again, you both are laughing.

“Did you request this song?” you ask, smiling up at him.

“Hmmm...” he says, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, which is his way of confirming your suspicion. You dance until the tempo eases, and Bobby Darin croons,

_No more sailing…_

Charlie is pulling you so close that all you have to do is tilt your face up, and your nose is buried between his jaw and his neck.

_So long, so long, so long…_

When you inhale deeply, you are enveloped by a particular combination of soap and sweat that reminds you of wrapping yourself in a blanket and sipping hot tea on a cool evening, or kicking off your shoes the second you get in the door after a long day. You didn’t feel this when you danced with Maks; you realized you missed Charlie’s smell. Maks was sweet, funny, and talented, but he doesn’t smell like hiking in the woods near the lake, or watching fireflies twinkle in the purple hour after the summer sun disappears, or eating warm brownies fresh from the oven, when the chocolate melts in your mouth and runs over your tongue. Maks doesn’t smell like security and comfort and happiness and everything that is good in life. Charlie does.

_Bye bye sailing…_

As the music ebbs, you are now swaying so slowly that you stop moving. You throw your arms around him and almost say out loud,  _Can we stay like this forever?_ But Charlie breathes in deeply, and you realize that he too, is inhaling your scent, because you both know you can't stay like this forever and this can never happen again.

Not like this.

So you stay silent, to avoid ruining the memory for him. Your chest tightens, and a voice sounds in your head,  _I release you, I release you_. Still, you hold on to him, defying the voice, challenging it to make you stop. At that moment, he pulls you even closer to him. A whimper climbs from the back of your throat when you understand that he is saying goodbye to you, to the way in which he has known you for eighteen years, and that you must do the same to him. You must fill different roles for each other, from this day forward. You will be co-workers, professional friends with a long past, but the possibilities for anything else are now gone, despite the fact you feel trapped in what _could have been_.

With your hands still around his neck, you pull back slightly to look in his eyes. “Congratulations, Charlie. It’s...wonderful to see you so happy. It really is.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you can see in him the depth and breadth of his gratitude for everything you have been in his life.

All of the sadness, and regret, and longing, and love pours out of you into the space between your chests. It fizzes up like bubbles in champagne, and you watch in your mind as the little bubbles float out and through the ceiling. You feel lighter, but you also feel somewhat flatter.

You step away from each other as a heavy bass beat thrums the next song and someone laughs, nearby.

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy,” you whisper. You feel the force of it more than you’ve ever felt anything in your life; you realize it is your whole relationship summarized in ten words.

He reaches out and brushes his fingers over the bracelets on your arm and slowly trails his thumb down the thin, blue veins on your wrist. When he reaches your hand, he turns it over and watches his thumb draw circles in your palm before he peers into your face and murmurs, “What about you? Are  _you_  happy?”  

Words fly in and out of your mind, but you can’t seem to catch the right ones, so you look past him at your reflection in the window. You remember the butterfly, and suddenly you want to be it. You will be a beautiful butterfly, you think, but unlike the one you saw at the zoo, so long ago, you decide you will be a _strong_ butterfly that could burst right through the glass.

You suddenly understand that when the voice in your head said, _I release you_ , you were trying to release _yourself_ , not Charlie.

You know that if you can do that for yourself, if you can release yourself, you will finally be free.

You take a deep breath, then squeeze his hand. “Of course,” you answer, and you smile, because you know it will be true again – someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to GreenFish (aka potatoholic on tumblr) for being a fabulous beta, giving me a title, and inspiring this ficlet! Thanks to byelogansvirginity (aka Cassie from tumblr) for support and sweet comments! 
> 
> I do not pretend to know any of these people. This story is simply based on my ideas of them.
> 
> I do not own the lyrics to the songs cited in the story. "Once Upon a Time" was written by Charles Strouse / Lee Adams. "Beyond the Sea" was written by by Jack Lawrence, Albert Lasry, Charles Trenet. Both were performed by Bobby Darin.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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